HOLOCAUST REMEMBRANCE BLOG

By Leon Cohenof The Chronicle staffNovember 16th, 2001Kenosha — About two weeks ago, many members of the Jewish and general community here were shocked and furious to learn that a veteran of the Waffen SS, the German Nazi elite units, spoke to students at a Kenosha public high school’s Junior Reserve Officers Training Corps program.But Kenosha school officials, including the teacher who invited the speaker, have said that promoting Nazi ideology or denying the Holocaust was neither the purpose for bringing in the speaker nor constituted the substance of what he said to the students.About a week-and-a-half later, a Holocaust survivor spoke to the same students. Moreover, Joseph Hentges, interim superintendent of the Kenosha Unified School District, told The Chronicle that the district will “tighten up the review process for controversial speakers.”Nevertheless, emotions are still roiling in the community, and some are calling for the teacher to be fired. A meeting of school officials and parents and students in the JROTC program to discuss the matter was held Monday night, according to the Kenosha News.On Oct. 24, Waffen SS veteran Konrad Mikula spoke to a military history class taught by Lt. Col. Jack Gibbons, commandant of the Kenosha Military Academy, the JROTC program housed in the Reuther Central High School. About one-fourth of the school’s total of about 500 students participate in the academy, according to Reuther principal Daniel Tenuta.In a telephone interview, Gibbons told The Chronicle that he invited Mikula to speak about his experiences “as a front-line soldier” who had enlisted when he was 17, the average age of Gibbons’ students, and had fought in Russia and France.And that, Gibbons insisted, is all that Mikula discussed with the class. “I would have been the first to stop him if he was putting out Nazi propaganda,” Gibbons said.Gibbons also said that “I am far from a Holocaust denier.” During his own service in the U.S. Army, Gibbons was stationed in West Germany in the mid-1970s, and he led tours of the Dachau concentration camp and visited other Holocaust sites, he said.He met Mikula during that time when Mikula, who then lived in South Africa, visited Germany for a reunion of his SS unit. Gibbons, a military historian, found Mikula to be “a wonderful resource” for information about campaigns and battles that Gibbons wanted to study.Gibbons said that Mikula was not a Nazi Party member during the war years, and that he didn’t believe Mikula had been involved in atrocities. “If I thought he was, I wouldn’t have anything to do with him,” he said.Gibbons was able to invite Mikula to speak because Mikula, who now lives in Germany, was visiting family in the Chicago area. Gibbons obtained permission to do so from Tenuta and the Kenosha Unified School District’s executive director of high school education, Dr. Gail Durckel.After the talk, a Kenosha News reporter who had been present, Wendy Ruenzel, interviewed Mikula. “He doesn’t believe Jewish concentration camps existed or that Hitler was in pursuit of the ‘divine race,’” her article in the Oct. 25 issue stated.That article galvanized members of the Jewish and general communities. Rabbi Dena Feingold, spiritual leader of Beth Hillel Temple, read the article and “was shocked,” she said in a telephone interview. “I couldn’t believe anyone would invite a Nazi to speak in a classroom.”She also received numerous calls from Jewish and non-Jewish members of the community who were upset, she said. Eventually, she informed the Anti-Defamation League’s Upper Midwest regional office in Chicago, which on Nov. 6 issued a statement denouncing Mikula’s visit to the school.Ron Sanders, former president of Kenosha Congregation B’nai Zedek, also read the article and “immediately started calling everybody I know in the Jewish community,” he said in a telephone interview.Both also contacted officials of the school and the school district, but they appear to have different goals. Feingold said, “My first inclination was to work within the school system ... rather than coming down heavy on condemnation without knowing the circumstances that led to this.”Sanders, in contrast, is campaigning to have Gibbons fired. “This teacher needs to be gone,” Sanders told The Chronicle. “I can’t say if he’s an anti-Semite or not, but I can say he doesn’t have judgment.... [Mikula] shouldn’t have been there, that’s the whole issue.”But this sort of reaction “disappoints me,” said district superintendent Hentges. Though “in hindsight we regret that permission was given” for Mikula to speak at the school, “I think we learn from our mistakes, and we see to it that they don’t occur again.”Dr. Kevin Anderson, the district’s director of instruction, called inviting Mikula and approving it “an honest mistake” and said “maybe we need a tighter set of procedures” for approving potentially controversial speakers.Sanders also apparently arranged for Holocaust survivor Paul Argiewicz of Paddock Lake to speak to the military academy students on Nov. 7, a visit that also was covered by the Kenosha News.Argiewicz, 71 and originally from a small village in Poland, survived several camps and a death march and was liberated from Buchenwald. He served in the U.S. Air Force during the Korean War.In a telephone interview, Argiewicz told The Chronicle that “I rebuffed the speech that the Nazi did,” but that the students were cooler to him than were students in the some 40 other schools at which he has spoken.Argiewicz believes that either Gibbons “should be dismissed” or the school’s charter for having a JROTC program should be revoked. “Nazis have no business being in a public school,” he said.

WITH ASSISTANCE from his wife Cheryl, Paul Argiewicz signs copies of his book “Number 176520,” following his presentation at Belmont High School on Thursday, March 11. His “176520” tattoo is just below his left wrist.Holocaust survivor shares

Dan WackershauserPlatteville Journal

BELMONT - From Holocaust concentration camp survivor to United States patriot. That is the long and, at times, horrific journey of Paul Argiewicz, a native of Aleksandrowice, Poland.

According to his biography, at the age of 11 Argiewicz was arrested by the German military for stealing bread, which he needed for his starving family in the ghetto. Little did he know that would be the last time he would see most of his family. Argiewicz recalled how he waved to his father who was standing in the window of the family home as he was dragged away.

The young Jewish boy would spend the next four years working in slave labor camps.

Argiewicz's journey from the depths of the Holocaust to his profound love of the United States is chronicled in the book, "Number 176520," written by Deanne Ebner.

Argiewicz, 79, recalled some of his memories during a visit to Belmont High School March 11. Students from several area schools attended the presentation.

Jim Siedenburg, Belmont district administrator, opened the event. "It's an amazing story," he said. "It's a story we have to pass on."

His wife Cheryl accompanied Argiewicz to Belmont. In addition, veteran John F. Foley, Darlington, joined Argiewicz at the front of the gymnasium.

Argiewicz began his experience behind the barbed wire at the Auschwitz concentration camp. He detailed that when he reached the front of the line upon arrival he was asked how old he was. He lied and responded that he was 18. The guard also asked him if he had any skills, to which he lied again and said he was an electrician. "I was no more an electrician than anyone here is an astronaut," Argiewicz told the audience.

Those lies likely saved his life, recounted Argiewicz, as many children his age were sent one way and he was sent another.

He was transferred to various camps during his time under Nazi rule. In order to keep hopeful, Argiewicz prayed for time and hoped to one day see his family again. He was witness to unspeakable horrors including beating, hazing, torturing and hanging, among other evils. "You can't imagine what I've seen as a child," he said, later noting that his worst memory of his time in the camps was when he witnessed his first hanging.

Argiewicz was able to survive due to a combination of quick thinking and a few helping hands along the way. During his work as an "electrician," he met a guard named Hans, who hated Adolf Hitler. Hans took Argiewicz under his wing, secretly feeding him on a daily basis. "There was not a day that went by that he didn't bring me a sandwich or apple," said Argiewicz. "He treated me almost like a son.

Hans taught Argiewicz the electrical trade, something that the young boy would make his career upon his arrival in the United States a few years later.

Near the end of the war Argiewicz and others were marched 150 miles to their final destination, Buchenwald concentration camp. Many prisoners perished along the way in the cold German winter. Argiewicz believes he was able to survive the trek given his improved physical condition, thanks to a steady diet given to him by Hans. "I was young and strong," he said.

During the death march there came a point where Argiewicz could have easily died. He fell into a frozen stream and when he emerged his clothing was wet and frozen. He surely would have died if not for another guard who gave the young boy his uniform top. Argiewicz wore the dry top under his wet clothes.

On April 11, 1945 United States soldiers arrived and liberated Buchenwald. "When we were liberated I didn't know what to do," said Argiewicz, who was 14 years old at the time. "I felt like an animal let out of a cage."

It was explained that on April 28 of 1945 Argiewicz and many other prisoners were scheduled to be executed as a gift to Hitler on his birthday.

Upon being freed, Argiewicz's next mission was to find his family. Along the way he was able to find a sister; however, the remainder of his family did not survive.

Argiewicz and his sister arrived in the United States in 1950. "When I saw the Statue of Liberty I broke down and started crying," he said.

Argiewicz was later drafted into the military, serving a stint in the U.S. Air Force. He received an honorable discharge from the military. "I'm proud to be an American," he said.

Argiewicz and his wife currently live in Chicago, Ill., while his sister lives in Sheboygan.

Sailors wait in a hallway on the medical-surgical floor at Lovell FHCC for the body of Holocaust survivor and Korean War Air Force Veteran Paul Argiewicz to be wheeled to the elevators.

Navy sailors in their distinctive blue camouflage uniform and dozens of civilian employees lined both sides of the long hallway, heads down and hands clasped.Dozens of family members, including his wife, Cheryl, and his young great-grandson, Mason, walked alongside him. A broad-striped red, white and blue blanket, lovingly hand-knit by strangers, covered him. His local rabbi, Tzali Wilschanski, in a tall black hat and dark waistcoat, led the procession.

Hands rose in solemn salutes as Holocaust survivor and Korean War Air Force Veteran Paul Argiewicz began his last journey on that Wednesday last December.“It was amazing, it was incredible; there were so many people, his doctors and nurses, [and] so many in uniform … it was such a big honor. It wasn’t anything I ever expected or heard about; it was just unreal,” Cheryl Argiewicz said, remembering Dec. 11, 2013, the day her husband died at Captain James A. Lovell Federal Health Care Center and was given a “final salute.”

“It was the most beautiful thing,” she said.For more than a decade, Argiewicz, 88, of Paddock Lake, Wis., was a frequent visitor to Lovell FHCC (and the North Chicago Veterans Affairs Medical Center before 2010) for outpatient appointments and some short hospitalizations. Most knew about the book, “Number 176520,” which told his harrowing story of surviving the Holocaust as a teenager.

So, on a crisp December morning, when staff received word of Argiewicz’s death on the medical-surgical floor, many gathered for his final salute.

“Everybody knew him at VA, in all the departments; everywhere we went, they would say, ‘Hi, Paul.’ He was just friendly. He loved to talk to everyone,” Cheryl recalled.The Argiewicz family’s rabbi, Tzali Wilschanski, and the funeral director walk with the morgue cart as civilian employees and sailors pay their respects during the Final Salute.

Minutes after Argiewicz died, hospice and palliative care coordinator Anna Abraham followed a procedure that she and the hospice and palliative care team had established the previous year, calling the hospital’s quarterdeck–an information desk at the main entrance manned by sailors–to round up final salute volunteers.

Abraham said these procedures are standard for every Veteran patient, no matter the hour or where in the hospital they die. “Our [hospice and palliative care] team wanted this – it’s the last thing we can do for our Veterans who have served our country, to honor them and pay respects,” she said.

Navy Hospitalman Gregory Spencer, from the optometry department, was one of the dozens of sailors who readily volunteered to help that day. It was the second time he had participated in a final salute. “Any time you are able to honor someone who has sacrificed in this way, and support the family, it’s a very meaningful thing,” Spencer said as he waited.

Spencer said the best part about joining a final salute line is the appreciation shown by the Veterans’ family members. “It’s just a short time out of my day, and it means so much to the family. It’s a privilege,” he said. “I’ll do it as many times as I can.”

Rev. Bill Vander Heyden, division officer for pastoral services, explained how the final salute at Lovell FHCC evolved from a “closed-door” policy to a celebration of life for staff and fellow patients, as well as family members and friends of the deceased Veteran.“Our team decided we had to do something about the way we escorted the Veteran’s body off the unit,” Vander Heyden said. “It used to be that the other patients on the floor would have to go back to their rooms, and we would close their doors so they wouldn’t see and get depressed.”

But, in fact, Vander Heyden said what actually happened before the change in procedure was that fellow patients and staff members – who, in some cases, lived with and cared for the deceased Veteran every day in the facility’s community living center – didn’t have the chance to grieve and say goodbye.

“So we decided to do just the opposite, to call everyone together and do this final salute,” Vander Heyden continued. “This gives them an honorable, dignified way to leave, and it shows the other Veterans that when their time comes, the same ceremony will take place. Their fellow Veterans will have a chance to pay final respects.”

The patriotic blanket that is draped over the morgue cart adds a meaningful touch to the final salute. Vander Heyden recounted how nurse manager Joyce Wadlington had asked what could be done about the stark, off-white aluminum cart. The team decided against using an American flag, because they didn’t want to take away from the significance of the family receiving a flag at the Veteran’s funeral, he said.

Vander Heyden knew about a local craft group in McHenry Township named the Crafty “Happy” Hookers, who knit lap blankets for Veterans. The group, primarily made up of Veterans of Foreign Wars Auxiliary members, was happy to oblige. The facility now has several handmade blankets that are reused as needed in various parts of the hospital.The final salute begins with the chaplain, or in Argiewicz’s case, his rabbi, reciting a prayer in the hall within earshot of those lined up, followed by the playing of Taps on a portable CD player as the body is wheeled down the hall. Those in uniform salute as the cart passes.

For Cheryl Argiewicz, the sight of her husband’s nurses and doctors, including his longtime primary care clinician Julia Kizhner, standing silently as they waited to start his final salute, was overwhelming. “She was just fantastic; so many people were fantastic, because they had a personal interest in Paul; so when I saw them there, it was just unbelievable.”

Although Argiewicz was not in hospice care when he died, he had made the decision, with the help of Dr. Kavita Sharma, attending physician for hospice and palliative care, to “stop fighting.” He had been hospitalized at Lovell FHCC for about six months, with a multitude of problems relating to his heart and kidneys.

“It got to the point when he said, ‘please don’t hurt me anymore,’ so we stopped all the stuff that was painful and made him comfortable,” Cheryl said.

Argiewicz’s Jewish faith dictated that his body not be embalmed or be buried on a Friday, the beginning of the Sabbath. Therefore, his body was transported directly from Lovell FHCC to the funeral home, and he received a full military funeral with a gun salute the next day. In the blur of the hours and days of the Jewish weeklong period of mourning known as Shiva, Cheryl was in awe of the outpouring of love and support for her husband.

“The man was just bigger than life,” she said. “I can’t even tell you how many cards, cakes …came to the home … there was a crowd gathered every night. It was amazing.”Korean War Air Force Veteran Paul Argiewicz shows the tattoo from his imprisonment in Nazi camps during World War II.

Many people knew Argiewicz from the book “Number 176520,” about his ordeal in German camps during World War II. It was a story he frequently recounted to schoolchildren and civic groups, and at the annual “March of Remembrance” in Washington, D.C., over the years. The book, by Deanne Joseph, was named for the concentration camp number tattooed on his arm.

Paul Argiewicz, born in Bielsko, Poland, was arrested at age 11 by the Waffen-SS, the military force of Nazi Germany, for stealing bread for his family members, who were starving in the Jewish ghetto. More than once during his imprisonment, he lied about his age and work skills to survive. He was liberated from the Buchenwald concentration camp at age 15. His parents and an older sister did not survive the Holocaust.After the war, he immigrated to America and joined the U.S. Air Force in 1952. He served as a crew chief in the Korean War, during which he was shot down. Seriously injured, he was captured and held prisoner for nearly a year.

In addition to public speaking, Cheryl said he counseled many fellow Veterans over the years, including some who were considering suicide. “He put a real value on life … he touched thousands of lives over the years,” she said.

Jayna Legg has been a public affairs specialist at the Capt. James A. Lovell Federal Health Care Center for three years. She is an Army Gulf War Veteran. She was commissioned a 2nd Lt. from Army ROTC at the University of Illinois, and then served on active duty and in the Illinois Army National Guard and Army Reserve, retiring as a Lt. Col. after 25 years of service. In the Army, she was a signal corps officer, command and general staff college instructor, and public affairs officer. She also is a former newspaper reporter and editor.